Jake 2.0/Jake Foley/The Other Side
Title: The Other Side
Fandom: Jake 2.0
Characters: Jake Foley, Kyle Duarte
Prompt: 050. Sport
Word Count: 468 words
Rating: PG
Summary: The view from the other side of the ballcourt.
Author's Notes: I know zip about the popular US sports, so hopefully nothing here is out of place. Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, yadda, yadda, yadda. Table (3) here.
The Other Side
"Hey, you're not even trying," Jake complained. He was barely breathing hard as he slowed, and bounced from one foot to the other on the spot. The basketball bounced with him, weaving its way around his steps with an inhuman speed and accuracy that made it look more like a magic trick.
Kyle eyed him balefully. Kyle wasn't breathing hard either, but that was because Kyle had stood still for the last ten minutes, bemusedly watching Jake running in circles around him. "Please enlighten me what exactly the point of that would be?" His voice was trying to be unimpressed, but it was also pained.
"Sport," Jake prompted. "You know, fun. You remember fun, Kyle? You probably had some once. Think back to those far-off, distant times before you joined the NSA..."
Loosing a disgusted snort, Kyle was baited into making a try for the ball. Jake bounced it to his other hand faster than thought, and whizzed around his mentor, limbs a blur, to sink the ball with nano-accuracy into the net. Laughing, he caught it as it bounced back to him.
Kyle rested back on his heels with a combination eye-roll and shrug, folded his arms and looked dour. He was exceptionally good at looking dour, with the air of someone who had practiced long and hard, even religiously, to make sure he had the technique absolutely right.
Unmoved to anything resembling mercy, Jake danced round him again before sinking another ball.
"Some might suggest it was unsporting to delight quite so much in the inequality of this match, Superboy," Kyle pointed out.
Jake's grin felt like it was close to becoming etched as a permanent fixture on his face. "Sore loser. Tell me, back in high school - you were on the team, right? At least one team." Not that he needed the confirmation, but his sense of satisfaction intensified all the more when he saw it in Kyle's reaction. "I knew it!"
"Are you planning to explain that train of thought anytime soon?"
"Bet you were pretty good, right? Hell, you played on the team, you were always one of the first men picked..."
"And this is going somewhere other than the continuing pointless humiliation of your immediate superior?" Kyle sighed as the ball sailed up again toward the net. He didn't even watch it go in. He had blatantly given up. Victory was a sweet, sweet taste.
"Nowhere in particular." Jake's grinning gaze wasn't on the other agent. Instead, he looked past the basketball in his hands to the memory of standing at the end of a line of skinny kids in gym shorts. And standing. And standing, and standing, and standing, as the line grew steadily shorter.
He sank the ball into the net again without refocusing. Long-distance shot.
Perfect aim.
Fandom: Jake 2.0
Characters: Jake Foley, Kyle Duarte
Prompt: 050. Sport
Word Count: 468 words
Rating: PG
Summary: The view from the other side of the ballcourt.
Author's Notes: I know zip about the popular US sports, so hopefully nothing here is out of place. Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, yadda, yadda, yadda. Table (3) here.
The Other Side
"Hey, you're not even trying," Jake complained. He was barely breathing hard as he slowed, and bounced from one foot to the other on the spot. The basketball bounced with him, weaving its way around his steps with an inhuman speed and accuracy that made it look more like a magic trick.
Kyle eyed him balefully. Kyle wasn't breathing hard either, but that was because Kyle had stood still for the last ten minutes, bemusedly watching Jake running in circles around him. "Please enlighten me what exactly the point of that would be?" His voice was trying to be unimpressed, but it was also pained.
"Sport," Jake prompted. "You know, fun. You remember fun, Kyle? You probably had some once. Think back to those far-off, distant times before you joined the NSA..."
Loosing a disgusted snort, Kyle was baited into making a try for the ball. Jake bounced it to his other hand faster than thought, and whizzed around his mentor, limbs a blur, to sink the ball with nano-accuracy into the net. Laughing, he caught it as it bounced back to him.
Kyle rested back on his heels with a combination eye-roll and shrug, folded his arms and looked dour. He was exceptionally good at looking dour, with the air of someone who had practiced long and hard, even religiously, to make sure he had the technique absolutely right.
Unmoved to anything resembling mercy, Jake danced round him again before sinking another ball.
"Some might suggest it was unsporting to delight quite so much in the inequality of this match, Superboy," Kyle pointed out.
Jake's grin felt like it was close to becoming etched as a permanent fixture on his face. "Sore loser. Tell me, back in high school - you were on the team, right? At least one team." Not that he needed the confirmation, but his sense of satisfaction intensified all the more when he saw it in Kyle's reaction. "I knew it!"
"Are you planning to explain that train of thought anytime soon?"
"Bet you were pretty good, right? Hell, you played on the team, you were always one of the first men picked..."
"And this is going somewhere other than the continuing pointless humiliation of your immediate superior?" Kyle sighed as the ball sailed up again toward the net. He didn't even watch it go in. He had blatantly given up. Victory was a sweet, sweet taste.
"Nowhere in particular." Jake's grinning gaze wasn't on the other agent. Instead, he looked past the basketball in his hands to the memory of standing at the end of a line of skinny kids in gym shorts. And standing. And standing, and standing, and standing, as the line grew steadily shorter.
He sank the ball into the net again without refocusing. Long-distance shot.
Perfect aim.